Emma
The girl across the counter slid the cup of hot steeped tea over the cash and into Emma’s hand. Paying for the drink and thanking the barista, Emma moved to a private corner booth in the back of the small café, and settled in with her touchscreen tablet in hand.
Maybe a bit of reading would clear her head.
The new piece of jewelry on her left ring finger caught her attention when she turned on the tablet. The large, three carat sapphire caught the reflection of the overhead lights and shimmered. The engagement ring was beautiful, to be sure, but Emma still hated it.
Hated that it was a life sentence imposed on her.
A punishment for being a girl—a Sorrento girl.
On her wrist, a thin bracelet glittered with diamonds. She didn’t want to wear it, either, but apparently it wasn’t her choice. Affonso had been sending gifts to Vegas for her every day since his departure the week before. A new laptop with a shiny Apple logo on the top. She also wore a necklace with a circular pendant decorated in even more diamonds. A mink fur coat, as January in New York was a great deal colder than in Nevada. Or so Affonso’s note on the gift said.
Wedding plans were on.
Emma ignored every bit she could.
Her mother brought over pictures of table settings, linens, dress choices, and color swatches daily, trying to get Emma involved in the process more and more. Affonso hired event planners for the small, private affair that would be their wedding, but her mother still demanded that the church be decorated to some extent, as well as the venue for the small reception afterward.
Both of her parents, and a few select family members—as well as her uncle’s closest men—would make the trip to New York for the wedding. Invitations were being sent to other syndicates in New York and out of state, as far as Emma understood from the private conversations she had overheard.
Emma just … didn’t care.
What difference did it make?
It wasn’t her day.
It was her father’s day. Her uncle’s.
Affonso’s day.
At least with Affonso gone back to New York, her parents and her uncle backed off a bit. Her lipstick color wasn’t criticized and the length of her dresses were overlooked.
Her babysitter, on the other hand, was never too far behind.
Keeping her head tilted down, Emma shot a glance at the presence sitting a couple of tables away from hers. Calisto tipped up a coffee, took a sip, and then grinned in that knowing way of his. The way that said he knew she was watching him.
The man had been keeping a distance lately. He rarely approached her, didn’t speak unless they were in the same room and he didn’t have a choice, but he was always close by somewhere.
Watching her.
Keeping tabs.
Unsettling her.
When she exited the elevator that took her from her penthouse to the casino’s foyer, Calisto was waiting. The black rental he was driving stayed glued to the bumper of her car, regardless of where she drove. He followed her into restaurants, stayed outside of her friend’s homes when she visited, and kept quiet the entire time.
Emma didn’t know why Calisto had decided to stay further away from her while he kept an eye on her, but she was both relieved and bothered by it.
Relieved because she needed to breathe. She wanted to feel normal for a little while longer, and the closer Calisto was, the harder it was for her to pretend like she wasn’t going to be married in just three weeks.
On the other hand, it left her bothered because Emma didn’t know much about Calisto at all. When they first met, he didn’t seem to have a problem talking to her or sticking close. Now, he had taken on an attitude of indifference. Her father and uncle treated him with the utmost respect, handed the man a wide berth of space when he entered their homes, and never questioned his job of watching Emma.
Not that they cared.
She supposed her feelings on Calisto’s distance shouldn’t matter. He wasn’t her friend, he was her watchdog, reporting her whereabouts and activities to her soon-to-be husband back in New York. Mistaking Calisto’s charming smile and conversations from the week before as an offer of friendship might do more harm than good. The last thing Emma wanted or needed was a snake waiting to bite her when she wasn’t looking.
The fact that Calisto was both Affonso’s nephew and his consigliere couldn’t be ignored. Loyalty to the boss was everything in Cosa Nostra. Emma wouldn’t pretend like she had an ally in Calisto Donati, simply because the man had given off the impression that he wasn’t all that close to his uncle.
Sighing, Emma went back to her tablet to check her emails. A few were from friends at school, wondering where she had been for the last week. Another was from the head of her study group, asking if her spot could be filled with another student, since she obviously wasn’t using it. Under her father’s instructions—by demand of her uncle—she had withdrawn from her three classes at college.
She hadn’t exactly been serious about college before. Mostly, she had treated it like a part-time thing that gave her something to do. Now that she didn’t have the choice at all regarding her schooling, she was starting to wish that she had taken more time to appreciate it.
All over again, her fuckups were staring Emma right in the face. Her gullibility mocked her without saying a single word.
George and her mother Minnie had never pushed Emma to go to college. After high school, she was given a stipend of her trust fund at the beginning of each month that was deposited straight into her bank account for whatever she wanted. The penthouse had been a gift from her father, as had her cherry-red Mustang.
Growing up like she had, spoiled and kept like a little doll, had made her think that’s how she would always be. Taken care of by someone else. Wealthy without lifting a single finger. Overindulged, with material possessions to make up for the lack of emotional connection.
Emma hadn’t realized how awful all that was until her mistakes were laughing at her.
She was disgusted with herself.
Maybe she did deserve what she was getting, after all.
“You look like you just swallowed a spider,” came a voice at her side.
Blinking out of her daze, Emma glanced up from her tablet to see Calisto sliding in across the table. Not wanting him to know about her internal war and self-hatred, she clicked off her tablet and donned a mask of indifference.
“Zoned out. Checking emails can be a boring task.”
Calisto arched a brow like he didn’t believe her for a second. “I didn’t know you had so much work, friends, and business to do that your emails were flooded daily.”
Ouch.
Even little old Emma with her head stuck firmly in the sand could hear the jeer in Calisto’s words.
“Making fun of me is a little low, isn’t it?” she asked bitingly.
“I’m not making fun of you.”
“Aren’t you? Listen, I realize that to you, I’m probably nothing more than a spoiled mafia princess who is finally being put to use for her family, but I’m also a person, Calisto. A real fucking person with feelings. I don’t need you to point out my flaws—I am well aware of them.”
Calisto leaned back in the booth, his stare never leaving hers. A million and one questions flickered through his gaze, but the man stayed quiet.
It unsettled her.
“Stop doing that,” Emma snapped.
“Doing what?”
The deep tenor of his voice lifted a bit in his confusion. Emma still thought Calisto’s tone was almost musical. Like just speaking was an art form for him. She didn’t know anyone else in her life who could talk with emotion in their voice while their face was nothing more than a blank slate, unreadable and cold.
Emma fidgeted under the booth table. “Looking at me like that, like you’re trying to pick me apart or something. Quit it, Calisto. I told you, I’m aware of my flaws. There’s no need for you to go pointing them out, too. Everyone else is already getting a wonderful laugh at my expense. Can’t you let me suffer in peace?”
“I’m not sure what you mean, dolcezza, but I was only trying to make you smile with a joke. You were over here frowning and letting your tea get cold. I thought maybe …” Calisto trailed off, scowling. “You know what, I thought nothing. Your unhappiness isn’t my concern, you’re right. And if you feel like your suffering is by your own hand, then that also isn’t my concern. Growing up, I was taught that those who make their beds deserve to sleep in them.”
If his earlier words had hurt, those ones damn well ached. He could have slapped her and it would have felt better.
Emma’s jaw fell open, and a breath caught painfully in her chest. “I didn’t make this bed.”
“That’s not what you just told me.”
She fiddled with the sleeve of her coat, feeling the rough tweed rub against the pad of her thumb. For a moment, the action soothed her for whatever reason.
“I was thinking of something before you came over,” Emma admitted. “What you said struck a nerve, and I didn’t take it as the joke you meant it because of that. I shouldn’t have snapped at you, Calisto. I’m sorry.”
He took in her words without responding. Lifting his cup of coffee, he took another sip and then set it back on the table.
“The spoiled Mafioso principessa nonsense that you barked at me,” he said quietly. “Was that what you were thinking about?”
Emma glanced away, refusing to meet Calisto’s piercing brown-black stare. She never was any good at hiding her true feelings. She didn’t want him to see the anger and shame that had to be shining brightly in her eyes.
“Yes,” she said.
Calisto hummed under his breath with a sound that came off as understanding and interested at the same time. Emma felt her invisible walls shudder at Calisto’s vague offer of sympathy. She was again reminded of who this man was, the person he was close to, and how he could hurt her with it.
She wouldn’t give him the ammo.
Not willingly.
“I was mistaken,” Calisto murmured.
Emma’s gaze cut back to her companion instantly. “About what?”
“The bed I thought you made. What I said, I guess.”
“Actually, you were right. My unhappiness isn’t your concern. You’re not required to fix how I feel or make it better. I don’t want you to.”
Emma figured putting that out there was better for both her and Calisto. That way, the man knew she wasn’t up for playing games with him. If all he wanted to do was try and get closer to her in order to feed information to Affonso, then he had another thing coming.
“Not what I meant,” Calisto said, waving a hand as if to dismiss her words. “Although, someone telling you the truth might help the way you feel, no doubt.”
“How do you know anything about what I feel?”
“You wear your emotions on your sleeve when you think no one is watching. You should get better at that, ragazza. In front of a crowd, or even with your family, the mask you wear is perfectly in place at all times. Last week at the dinner party, no one would have guessed you were unhappy and angry about everything that was happening around you. But when you’re alone …”
“It’s obvious,” she said.
Calisto shrugged. “You should know by now that you’ll never truly be alone once you take Affonso’s last name, Emmy. Someone will always be close behind. Someone else will be watching. He’ll have different ways of making sure you’re behaving, interacting with the right people, and keeping up the image that he wants you to maintain. Better you start acting now like you’re never alone then to fuck up later and have to answer for something he considers you’ve done wrong.”
A shiver worked its way down Emma’s spine. That was the second time someone had subtly offered information to her about Affonso’s actions toward women in his life.
Actions suggesting violence.
Her stomach rolled.
“Is he like that with his other women, too?” she dared to ask.
Calisto’s brow furrowed. “Affonso, you mean?”
“Yes. His mistresses, too. My father mentioned something to me last week. He said Affonso had a … taste for pain when it came to women who don’t listen. You just said something similar. I wondered if that was true. Is it?”
Silence answered Emma’s question.
Then, Calisto said, “I’ve never seen him hit a woman.”
“But you don’t know for sure, right?”
“I know he can be a monster.” Calisto’s eyes hardened, but he wasn’t directing his coldness at Emma this time. “I know he’s hurt women—a woman—someone told me that once.”
“I don’t understand. Who did he hurt?”
“Someone,” Calisto answered vaguely, offering nothing else. “What I meant when I said that you would have to answer to him for your choices after marrying him wasn’t that he would turn physical with you. I don’t believe he would, with his wife. People are watching you, and him, Emmy. Affonso knows better than to hit his wife and leave a mark that might be seen. And there are other families like his in New York. Families with far more power than he has. One of those families’ boss, Dante Marcello, is known to step into personal business for the sake of a woman.”
Emma didn’t know what to say. “Really?”
“Honor is supposed to be the most important thing a man has in Cosa Nostra. The way he treats his wife and his family falls in line with that. There are men in la famiglia who never forget that being honorable, that being a good made man, is more important that being your boss’s man. Despite being a boss, Affonso is watched like anyone else. He has standards that he’s expected to keep just like anyone else.
“I don’t believe he would put his hands on you,” Calisto continued quieter. “Your father was likely just trying to scare you into compliance by playing on a fear that every woman has buried somewhere inside of them.”
“But he doesn’t actually need to hit me to hurt me,” Emma replied.
Anyone with any sense knew that.
Calisto nodded. “You’re right. And that’s what I meant. He can remove people from your life, take away your things, shame you privately, or ignore you publically and make you seem unworthy of your position at his side. Pride is a terrible thing to have taken away. Sometimes, in this life where a woman is only valued for her last name and position, her pride might be the one thing she has. The worst kind of men know exactly how to rip it out of your heart without ever laying a finger on you.”
“Are you warning me that Affonso is one of those men?”
“I’m saying that he’s good at hiding the monster he doesn’t want you to see.”
Emma’s shoulders tightened with tension. It was like a little knot in between the blades that wouldn’t leave, no matter how hard she tried. With every reminder pushed at her that her time as a free woman was quickly coming to a close, the knot grew a little more.
Just like the heaviness in her stomach. Or the emptiness in her heart.
Calisto was still watching her closely, gauging her reactions and emotions. At that point, Emma didn’t give a damn. She didn’t want to be somebody’s perfect housewife and doll to play with when it was convenient.
Why did she have to pretend like she wanted that at all?
“You did hear what I said, didn’t you?” Calisto asked.
Emma swallowed her emotions down. “Yes.”
“Practice makes perfect. Work on it.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one being forced into a future that you don’t want.”
Calisto’s lips curved wickedly and his gaze narrowed, darkening his features. The handsome ruggedness of his face sharpened into something far sexier in a blink. Emma had to look away again, refusing to get caught up in a crush on a man she couldn’t have, didn’t know, and wasn’t sure if she wanted to.
Releasing a short, clipped laugh, Calisto asked, “And how do you know that, Emmy?”
“I don’t.” She turned back to him, adding, “But I would think that you didn’t wake up one day with your entire life turned on its side while every decision you ever thought you made was nothing more than a lie that taunts you. Am I right? Because that’s how I feel right now, Calisto. That is the hell I’m living with. Pretending nothing is wrong might seem easy to do, but until you step into my shoes, you have no idea how hard it really is.”
His jaw ticked, and his hand balled into a fist against the tabletop. Then, Calisto grabbed his cup from the table and stood from the booth quickly. His rushed movements and stiff back told Emma that she had struck a nerve.
Something …
What had she said that pissed him off so much?
“What are you doing?” Emma asked.
“Going back to my table,” Calisto muttered. “Maybe you were right, Emma.”
The way he used her full name instead of her nickname felt wrong. It came out of his mouth stilted and emotionless. Not like how he usually spoke.
“Right about what?”
“You. The overindulged mafia princess with her poor-little-me complex. Keep feeding that, let it fester and grow. I’m sure in five years, that’ll be the one thing still going strong inside of you when everything else is used up and gone. Affonso will keep the silver spoon in your mouth, gagging you quiet. Don’t worry about that.”
Emma’s heart clenched, but her mind screamed louder. Unlike earlier when his words had hurt her by accident, this was not the same.
Calisto meant to hurt her.
His words had a purpose. He probably meant to distract her from his own secrets by cutting her with his words. She wouldn’t let him do that. He was hiding something.
Emma wanted to know what it was.
“I upset you,” Emma said softly.
Calisto froze solid as he turned to leave, and a shudder worked over his shoulders at her statement. “No, I—”
“I did. What was it?”
He glanced over his shoulder, his stare locking onto hers and holding strong. For the first time, Emma felt like she was getting a good look at this dangerous, attractive man. A familiar discontent colored his irises, barely hidden. A story was right on the tip of his tongue. Hatred twisted his features into a mask of pain, taking away his usual apathy and replacing it with a man she might be curious to know.
A man who looked raw.
Beaten by unseen things.
Used by unknown beings.
Sore to the touch, like unhealed wounds.
She knew those things.
All of them.
Because she had them inside, too.
“What was it?” Emma asked again.
“You assumed I didn’t understand. You assumed I didn’t know. Your life, your feelings, and your mistakes. You assumed. And you were wrong.”